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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25181275">dawn gleams (on each crack and crevice of failure)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose'>SparkleMoose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Coming of Age, Drama &amp; Romance, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/M, Galahdian Culture (Final Fantasy XV), Genderbending, No Traitors AU, Verbal Abuse, bad family relationships, fem!luche in the HOUSE, the author showing up ten minutes late with</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:21:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,390</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25181275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Luche was never meant to be here. To be alive in this world.</p><p>Luche was never meant to be alive, but that doesn't mean she'd live quietly.</p><p>(Daughters of Kings know how to put on a show at the very least, and if she burns she'll be damned sure she puts on a fine one.)</p><p>(Fem!Luche AU I've talked about on Tumblr way too much.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tredd Furia/Luche Lazarus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. lacrimosa</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Luche has never claimed to be a good child. She has never claimed to have the saintly aura that one boy and his sister in the village have. Luche has never claimed to be good. She’s rough insides and out. A hard shell made out of a life time of being told she’s something she’s not.</p><p>Luche is many things. She’s a fighter, she’ll throw a punch at the boys and girls who leer at her. Luche will call her own mother a bitch if the need arises and yet she won’t raise a hand to those she calls family despite the fact that she knows she could.</p><p>Luche is many things. She’s a hard-worker. She’ll bead and embroider until her fingers bleed. She’ll cut trees down for firewood, trade with the Khara boy that comes to the village with plants and other such things for seeds so that her family can eat.</p><p>Luche is many things.</p><p>But she’ll never be a traitor.</p>
<hr/><p>Luche does not speak to her mother often. For all that they live in the same house, her mother is nothing more than a ghost in the wind; leaving her presence behind in unwashed dishes and dirty shoes.</p><p>For some reason, that is the memory that sticks with her throughout her life. Her mothers dirty shoes, yellow and caked with mud. Luche remembers taking the shoes each time after her mother passed out on the couch and washing them, trying her best to remove the dirt from the outside and the bloodstains on the inside.</p><p>Luche’s mother was a dancer. It is little wonder that she would dance till her feet bleed.</p>
<hr/><p>Luche’s grandmother is a mystery. Her abuela speaks in riddles, carves figurines from wood until her fingers are covered in splinters.</p><p>Abuela never works until her fingers bleed. Never dares to let her blood drop on the wood that she carves.</p><p>“Your mother doesn’t know,” Abuela said to Luche once, “You shouldn’t bleed on the future.”</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Luche had said then, and her abuela cackled high and obnoxious. A terrible thing that devolved into snorts.</p><p>“No, child,” Luche’s grandmother said because she never called Luche granddaughter, “You won’t ever understand. You’re dumb that way.”</p><p>Luche bristles at that. Red covering her vision for a moment. She wants to tell her grandmother that Luche is the smartest in her class, all of her teachers say so. She wants to tell her grandmother that Luche herself excels in almost anything she puts her mind to. Luche wants to tell her grandmother that she’s trying damn it, she’s trying to meet their expectations. What else does she have to do?</p><p>“Maybe,” Luche says instead, “You’re the dumb one.”</p><p>Luche’s grandmother grins, and her teeth are yellow.</p><p>“No,” her grandmother says, “I’m much better than the goat child my daughter gave us.”</p><p>Luche decides that she hates yellow.</p><p>Mostly, she decides that she hates her family.</p>
<hr/><p>Luche was born on a Friday. She was born on Friday the 13th at 6:13 in the morning.</p><p>Cursed, she is told that is what the midwife called her when Luche didn’t cry.</p><p>Cursed, her mother echoed.</p><p>Traitor, her grandmother added.</p><p>Thirteen years later, Luche once again sits alone on the roof of her house on the day of her birth. Her mothers fits are worse on Luche’s birthday. Tita calls her child a myriad of names that leave Luche feeling sick. Traitor, Luche is called to her face. Kinslayer, her grandmother joins in with glee. Traitor, Kinslayer, Bastard, Thief-</p><p>“You live a life that shouldn’t be yours,” her grandmother told her today, “You should be dead.”</p><p>“Fuck you,” Luche had said, “Fuck you. Go die. Fuck you.”</p><p>And her grandmother had laughed again, the daisies on her yellow skirts almost blinding.</p><p>Luche really hates yellow.  </p>
<hr/><p>Her mother wears yellow. The cupcake she presents Luche in one of her rare moments of lucidity is covered in yellow icing. A paltry attempt at apologizing for her words on Luche’s birthday and every year its the same.</p><p>Every year Luche’s mother will go mad with one foot in the future and the other in the present. Every year Tita will curse Luche for things that haven’t happened yet. And every year, on the day after Luche’s birthday, she goes to hand Luche a present.</p><p>As though Luche can be bought.</p><p>“Keep it,” Luche says to her mother who always wears yellow.</p><p>“It’s yours,” her mother insists.</p><p>“I don’t want it.” The smile that had been on Tita’s face falls.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Luche stares at her mother until her mother takes the cupcake and leaves.</p>
<hr/><p>I’m going to live, Luche decides that night, Fuck them. I’m going to live.</p>
<hr/><p>There are rumors about Clan Lazarus, about how they’re all either mad or geniuses and how no one is ever sure what side of the line one of them is ever on. There are rumors about how there is magic woven into each of the object a member of the clan makes.</p><p>There are rumors about all clans but there are rumours about the branch of the Lazarus Clan that Luche hails from.</p><p>It is said that they are Seers.</p><p>Luche doesn’t believe that.</p><p>She can’t afford too.</p>
<hr/><p>Three years pass and Luche stays in a place she hates.</p>
<hr/><p>There is a boy in the sunflower field that lays a few feet outside of Luche’s house.</p><p>There is a boy bleeding from a Coeurl bite in her mothers sunflower field and Luche doesn’t hesitate to step back inside her house. The thought of leaving the boy to die only crossing her mind when she’s outside with a first aid kit in her hands.</p><p>“I’m helping you,” she tells the boy who tries to scoot away and fails, “Stay still.”</p><p>The boy scowls, but sees her pull out bandages from her kit and stills.</p><p>“You’re helping me?” He asks, “You don’t even know me.”</p><p>Luche sees the smoky quartz in his hair and shrugs.</p><p>“You’re a Furia,” she says and doesn’t mention how he shouldn’t be wearing his beads until he’s at least eighteen unless he’s taken on the responsibility his parents held. “That’s all I need to know.”</p><p>“And you?” The Furia demands, “What Clan are you from?”</p><p>“Lazarus.”</p><p>And the Furia cackles.</p><p>“Oh? Are you mad then? Or a Seer?”</p><p>Luche doesn’t hesitate to let the bandage drag against the wound she’s disinfected already.</p><p>The Furia yelps and doesn’t speak again.</p><p>In the end, the bite has a mild infection, not with the Scourge thankfully, and Luche drags him back into the house, thankful her family is out for the next three days as she lays him on the couch and double checks the bandages she wrapped the wound on his torso with.</p><p>“Idiot,” Luche calls him and the boy grins.</p><p>“Hey,” the boy says, “Thanks, Sunflower.”</p><p>Luche blinks at him. “Call me Sunflower again and I’ll punch you.”</p>
<hr/><p>There is a girl in the sunflower field that Tredd has managed to crawl into. There is a girl with hair the color of wheat and eyes the color of a sea storm and for a moment Tredd stares at her, dazed by blood loss and the glare of the sun coming from behind her.</p><p>An angel, he thinks for a brief moment as the sun seems to light up the girl from behind. An angel.</p><p>Later his opinion changes; and while Luche may not be an angel, she is no demon either.</p><p>She is just human, like the rest of them.</p><p>Just human, and Tredd thinks that makes him like her more.</p>
<hr/><p>On the second day, Tredd gets Luche to tell him her name.</p><p>“I told you mine,” he reasoned, “It’s only fair I know the name of the fair lady who rescued me.”</p><p>“Asshole,” Luche had called him, “My name is Luche.”</p><p>“I’m calling you Sunflower,” Tredd says with the assurance only teenager boys have.</p><p>True to her word, Luche punches him.</p>
<hr/><p>On the third day Tredd leaves, calling out a farewell to Luche as he strides off back toward the village.</p><p>“I’ll be back,” Tredd promises and Luche knows better than to believe him.</p><p>On the third day, Luche falls asleep beneath an apple tree.</p><p>On the third day, Luche remembers a life that is hers but wasn’t. She remembers a life where she was loved and loved in return. She remembers the joy her children brought her, the joy her wife had given her. Luche remembers what it was life to love wholeheartedly wand without regrets.</p><p>Luche is sixteen when she wakes up from a dream and stares up at the charred remains of an apple tree.</p><p>She glances at her hands, and is not surprised to find them on fire.</p>
<hr/><p>It doesn’t take much to get her grandmother to tell Luche that she’s the daughter of a king.</p><p>“Spoiled brat.” Her grandmother says this and looks at Luche in a new light. “I hope your magic burns bright.”</p><p>And all Luche hears is:</p><p>I hope your magic kills you.</p>
<hr/><p>Magic is hard. It is fickle and angry and reacts to Luche’s emotions far too quickly. It seems almost out of control and Luche hates it.</p><p>Another thing to hate. </p><p>But while magic might be hard, having to put up with Tredd is harder. The Furia comes to Luche’s house each day and doesn’t leave until Luche comes out and talks with him.</p><p>“Why?” Luche had demanded once as they sat on a fence and watched the sun set. Between them sat a basket of figs that they’ve already eaten too much of.</p><p>“Why what?” Tredd swung his legs back and forth and looked down at Luche like she was the most interesting thing in the world.</p><p>“Why do you come?”</p><p>Tredd laughed. His head tossed back and red hair catching fire in the light. When he stopped, he looked down at Luche like she held the secrets of the universe.</p><p>“Because you’re interesting,” Tredd said as though it was the most obivous thing in the world, “Because I like you.”</p><p>“You think I’m lonely,” Luche had accused rather than dwell on the idea of someone liking her.</p><p>“Maybe.” And Tredd had leaned in closer and offered her another fig. “But maybe I’m lonely too.”</p>
<hr/><p>Luche could say that her life hadn’t started until she was sixteen. Until she met a boy in a field of flowers and took him home to patch up his wounds. Luche could say that everything that happened before that moment didn’t matter, didn’t make her into who she is now. She could have brushed off the events of her life until that moment, could have chosen a better path with the memories of her past life guiding her. Luche didn’t need to cling to the memories of this life when she had lived a full life before; a life where she loved and was loved. Where her joy was shared by others and they shared their joy with her in turn. She didn’t need to be bitter and yet-</p><p>And yet she couldn’t help but think of her mother, of her grandmother, of the two of them alone with no one to care for them. And despite everything they’ve done and said, Luche loves them still.</p><p>Despite everything, she stays with them.</p>
<hr/><p>“Why do you stay with them?” Tredd asks her one day, lounging in a tree above her while Luche tends to the garden she has been growing since she could walk, “They don’t care about you.”</p><p>You’re right, Luche thinks, and remembers how her mother clings to her and sobs some nights. Luche remembers how her grandmother looks at her like Luche herself is already a ghost. </p><p>“They love me,” Luche disagrees with Tredd as she kneels in the dirt next to her flowers, “Besides, where would I go?” Her tone is sardonic, the question asked to mock and not out of any real desire to have an answer.</p><p>“You’d come with me,” Tredd says, his eyes bright and vibrant when Luche looks up at him, the quirk of her lips telling him that she thinks he’s being stupid.</p><p>“And when you get tired of me?” Luche demands, wiping her dirty hands on her jeans, “What then?”</p><p>“Oh, Sunflower.” And Tredd grins. “I could never tire of you.”</p>
<hr/><p>Eventually, Luche buries her magic inside of her. She hides it behind walls of steel and rock. She buries it so deeply that it will never be found.</p><p>Magic is supposed to be a tool, but what good is a tool that can’t be used?</p><p>(She never thinks to ask her family for advice.)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. mad dog</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Luche is not an easy girl to live with. She knows this. She knows she is stubborn and foolhardy and doesn’t know when to hold her tongue. Luche comes home some days bruised and bloodied and scowling and no one bothers to ask her what happened.</p>
<p>Not that she would believe them if they acted concerned. Not that she wants their pity. Luche has survived this far within the clutches of her grandmother and mother and she has no plans on dying now.</p>
<p>She will not die before she leaves Galahd.</p>
<p>She’ll make sure of it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Luche is not easy to get along with. She knows this. Her family knows this. The town she gets her groceries and clothes from knows it. Hell, Tredd, despite his insistence on coming around and befriend her, knows it as well.</p>
<p>Which is why, she thinks as she stares down at the girl she had just given a bloody nose before looking up at the girls bristling boyfriend and their friends, Luche keeps finding herself in these situations.</p>
<p>“How dare you!” The girl shrieks at her, the words garbled by the blood pouring from her nose. “How dare you, you filthy, mad dog!”</p>
<p>“I’m not a dog,” Luche disagrees even as her stare keeps the girls friends from coming to her aid, “But even if I was, we all know it’s a bad idea to tangle with a rabid dog.” Luche smiles at the group in front of her, flashing her teeth and the girl stumbles to her feet and glowers at Luche. “After all, madness is contagious.”</p>
<p>The girl snarls at Luche.</p>
<p>Luche raises her eyebrow and her smile turns razor sharp. She takes a step closer.</p>
<p>“Woof,” Luche says and the girl in front of Luche screams and rushes her. The group of friends and the other girls boyfriend scream in concern.</p>
<p>Luche sighs and steps to side, letting the girl trip and stumble over her own feet as the girl tries to pivot and change course.</p>
<p>The girl winds up landing in a pile of trash and Luche rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the others who are still watching.</p>
<p>“Watch out,” she says dryly, “Or Mad Lazarus might come after you next.”</p>
<p>The group scatters, and Luche doesn’t look back at the groaning girl on the ground as Luche herself steps out of the alley.</p>
<p>She ignores the stares of the the people passing by as she walks down the street to the market. The idle chatter almost quiets completely as she passes those who linger on the street.</p>
<p>Someone spits at her feet.</p>
<p>Luche debates the merits of getting into another fight for a moment before she decides to ignore the insult and carries on. The man who spat at her feet grumbles and she ignores him.</p>
<p>A voice from down the street who watched the exchange doesn’t.</p>
<p>“Hey!” Tredd’s voice is a snarl as he comes to a stop between Luche and the man who spat at her. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”</p>
<p>The man blinks, before a snarl matching the one on Tredd’s face crosses his own. “And who are you to tell me what to do, Furia?” the fruit seller demands, “Have you lost your senses as well?”</p>
<p>A fire blazes in Tredd’s eyes and he steps forward.</p>
<p>Luche grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him back.</p>
<p>“Enough,” Luche says even as she pockets a pomegranate, “Enough Tredd, let’s go.”</p>
<p>“You can’t let him talk to you like that!” Tredd snarls at her and in an instant she is reminded of her grandmother. Luche shakes the image of a snarling old woman out of her head and turns her steely gaze on Luche.</p>
<p>“Please,” Luches says, “I’ve had enough for today.”</p>
<p>Tredd falters, his tense shoulders dropping as he looks at the girl in front of him and Luche doesn’t care to think about what he sees. She knows she’s pathetic, that he merely spends time with her out of a sense of misplaced pity, that one day he will leave because she’s too much trouble. Luche knows this.</p>
<p>It is still her job to keep him safe anyway.</p>
<p>“Fine,” Tredd concedes and wraps an arm around her shoulder and tugs her into the blazing warmth of his body. She lets him, because despite everything, she trusts him. “Let’s go.”</p>
<p>With one last glare at the merchant they leave, the air silent around them.</p>
<hr/>
<p>They walk until they are out of the city proper, until the sun is setting and they find themselves in the front yard of Tredd’s house. It’s an empty thing, his parents having died two years ago, and yet Luche finds solace there. Finds comfort in Tredd’s presence and in the warmth emitting from his home.</p>
<p>“Why do you let them talk to you like that?” Tredd asks her as she splits the pomegranate she stole from the man in two and hands him half. They sit at a table in his front yard, Tredd’s meager garden containing sunflowers that Luche had glared at him for daring to plant. “You deserve more.”</p>
<p>Luche shrugs and starts plucking the seeds out of the pomegranate. “Do I?”</p>
<p>Tredd turns to her, his eyes blazing in the early August sun. He looks like a summer god, Luche thinks, idly plucking another seed out of her pomegranate as Tredd consumes his while glaring at her.</p>
<p>“Yes you deserve more!” he hisses, enraged “You aren’t mad! You aren’t your mother.”</p>
<p>“No,” she agrees, “I’m not. But I’m her daughter. Isn’t that enough?”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t matter. You’re you. Luche Lazarus. Yes Lazarus. You might be mad still but I wouldn’t have you any other way.”</p>
<p>Looking at Tredd she pops a pomegranate seed into her mouth even as his mouth is already smeared red. “You will leave me,” she says, and hates that it isn’t a prophecy, “I know you will.”</p>
<p>“I’m not leaving you,” Tredd swears and puts his own pomegranate to the side to grab Luche’s chin in his hands. “Not unless you tell me to.”</p>
<p>Do you want me to leave? Is the question in his eyes.</p>
<p>Luche considers. </p>
<p>“You can stay,” she says, “As long as you want.”</p>
<p>Tredd drops his hand away from her face and grins at her. His lips bloodied with fruit red and he is triumphant in the setting sun.</p>
<p>“Good,” he says as though he would gladly damn himself with her.</p>
<p>Luche doesn’t think she’ll ever understand him.</p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>Luche doesn’t realize that she’s spent her last birthday with Tredd until she brings up when her birthday is.</p>
<p>“I want to get you something,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “We’re friends aren’t we?”</p>
<p>Luche blinks at him.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean no?” Tredd scowls and Luche has the brief thought of pinching his cheeks.</p>
<p>“I don’t want anything.” Tredd looks at her like she’s odd and Luche wonders why it is she’s always getting those looks.</p>
<p>She knows why but it’s tiring.</p>
<p>“You have to want something,” Tredd insists.</p>
<p>“No,” she disagrees, “I don’t have to want anything.” She thinks of her birthday and she thinks of her mother.</p>
<p>Luche’s mother might love her, but Luche hates her mother.</p>
<p>“Let me spend the day with you,” Luche says suddenly.</p>
<p>“Is that all?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Luche says, “Let me spend the day with you.”</p>
<p>Tredd’s mouth opens then closes as though he doesn’t know what to say.</p>
<p>“Alright,” he says, “We’ll spend the day together.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Her grandmother-</p>
<p>Luche’s grandmother doesn’t care. And Luche has thought that perhaps her grandmother was too lost in the future to see that Luche was the one holding the house together, that Luche was the one cleaning and stocking the cabinets. That she was the one that made sure the house didn’t fall into disrepair.</p>
<p>Luche’s grandmother doesn’t care. Luche realizes this as she lays on the floor, bleeding from a stab wound because that stupid girl she fought with a few days earlier had decided that the best revenge was to rid the world of Luche once and for all and her grandmother steps over her soon to be corpse and leaves the house.</p>
<p>
  <em>Why is her mother crying?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Shouldn’t they be glad to be rid of her?</em>
</p>
<p>Perhaps Luche’s last thoughts should be of her family, should be of what she’s leaving behind and yet all she can think of is Tredd.</p>
<p>Of how he had promised to spend tomorrow with her.</p>
<p>How pathetic, Luche thinks to herself as the world fades, That I die like this.</p>
<hr/>
<p>She wakes up to sun streaming through an open window. To a breeze tickling the hairs on her arms and the scent of sunflowers filling the air.</p>
<p>Luche groans at being woken up, her eyes fluttering open to gaze at an unfamiliar ceiling. There are no water stains on the ceiling above her, no signs of damage from not being taken care of properly. It probably says a lot about her life that that’s how she figures out that she’s not in her room anymore.</p>
<p>Luche tries to sit up only for a sharp pain to race across her abdomen. She winces, a hand going to the stomach as the last few days come rushing back to her.</p>
<p>Oh, she thinks, I almost died.</p>
<p>Why didn’t I?</p>
<p>It’s a good question, Luche does not know where she is. She doubts anyone would attempt to help her, hated as she is. So where is she?</p>
<p>She doesn’t know.</p>
<p>She’s going to find out.</p>
<p>Luche pulls the covers off her body and it’s only then she notices that she’s dressed in a mans shirt and shorts, that her under has likely been taken off and that someone saw her naked. She shrugs that off and forces herself to her feet, ignoring the burning ache she feels and slowly makes her way toward the door to the room.</p>
<p>It opens before she gets there. The sound of a tray carrying a bowl of water and bandages clatters to the ground and Luche winces at the noise, taking a step back even as she registers that it’s Tredd standing before her.</p>
<p>Tredd who has just made a mess of his floor.</p>
<p>“You should be more careful,” Luche advises, hating that those are the first words out of her mouth.</p>
<p>“You’re awake,” Tredd says, his voice hoarse and brittle, the bags under his eyes speaking volumes of the stress he’s been under.</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>“You’re awake.” Tredd takes a step over the dropped tray and comes to a stop in front of her. He goes to grab her, to draw her into a hug but stops at the last second, mindful of her wounds.</p>
<p>Luche places a hand on his shoulder and something in Tredd eases and he grasps her hand and Luche lets him bring it to his face where he presses his face to her palm.</p>
<p>“Tredd,” Luche says softly, “I’m here.”</p>
<p>He laughs against her palm and it’s a sad thing.</p>
<p>“You almost weren’t.”</p>
<p>“But I’m here,” Luche insists, letting her hand drop from his face as he releases her. Tredd looks a moment away from grabbing her and never letting go. Instead he gestures toward the bed and the two of them go and sit on it, facing each other.</p>
<p>Luche can’t bear to look away from him.</p>
<p>“She’s been arrested,” Tredd says, breaking the precious silence between them.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Luche says, having not thought of the girl who had done this to her, “That’s- good.”</p>
<p>“Her Clan has forsaken her,” Tredd says, “There’s talk that she’ll be sent to prison and return clanless, homeless.”</p>
<p>“Tredd, I don’t care.”</p>
<p>Tredd pauses.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I don’t care,” Luche repeats, and takes his hand in hers, “She is not someone I care for. I do not care what happens to her.”</p>
<p>A furious light enters Tredd’s eyes. “You should,” he says.</p>
<p>“I don’t,” Luche says, “I am alive. I don’t care.”</p>
<p>“You almost weren’t.’</p>
<p>“But I am. The girl who hurt me is nothing. I do not care for her.”</p>
<p>“But I do.” Tredd says, fierce and quiet, “She almost took you from me-”</p>
<p>“I was not yours to start with.”</p>
<p>“You could be,” Tredd says, something foreign to Luche dancing in his eyes.</p>
<p>Luche smiles at him, awkward and tired.</p>
<p>“Not now,” she tells him, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Did you save me?”</p>
<p>“Your mother found me,” Tredd says, allowing the change of subject, “Dragged me back to your house and ran to the basement, I did the best to stop the bleeding but when she came out-” Tredd pauses, “-she broke a glass bottle over your head and the bleeding stopped enough for me to sterilize and bandage the wound.”</p>
<p>It must have been a potion, Luche rationalizes, a parting gift from Regis perhaps.</p>
<p>“Luche,” Tredd begins slowly, “Why did your mother have a potion?”</p>
<p>Luche blinks.</p>
<p>“She fucked King Regis.”</p>
<p>“Is that why you aren’t like them?”</p>
<p>Luche shrugs. </p>
<p>“Probably,” she admits, “I don’t think about it much.”</p>
<p>Tredd nods. Luche’s stomach growls.</p>
<p>She turns away from Tredd, embarrassed even though she can almost see the smirk on Tredd’s face.</p>
<p>“I’ll get you something to eat,” Tredd says, casting a look at the tray he spilled, “And get more bandages.”</p>
<p>Tredd moves to leave the room but before he does Luche calls him.</p>
<p>“Tredd,” Luche says as the boy stops. He looks at her like she’s something precious and Luche’s breath catches in her throat. “Thank you.” Her voice comes out quietly, soft as a willow in the wind.</p>
<p>Tredd softens.</p>
<p>“Anything for you.”</p>
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